


Living in the Past

by Citis



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Emotional rehabilitation, Insanity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citis/pseuds/Citis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ indefinite hiatus / might not continue ]</p><p>He seemed to spend his life searching for those missing memories until something he least expected happens. Then suddently, those missing memories don't matter as much. crazy!Piers/Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Walk Down Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> [Nov. 24] UPDATE: Chapter one has been updated.

It had been two years since he last visited China, though the circumstances were different, then. He wasn't there to fight his way through hoards of infected this time; he wasn't there to get drunk on cheap, watered-down alcohol in some dank bar, either. He was there to remember.

Chris Redfield wanted to remember all of the men he tried so hard to protect: Piers, Finn, Marco...all of the others.

He would have drank away his sorrows, but he didn't want to forget Piers. Not again. Not when he wouldn't ever see the man again.

He needed to preserve all of his memories about Piers – the good, the bad, and everything in-between – for his own well-being.

He wanted to remember all the little jokes Piers had cracked, even though he never seemed amused when Piers told them; secretly, he had always amused with anything Piers did – except for when the sniper got ballsy and ran his mouth about things he had no right to even pretend to know about.

But every time he thought about Piers, or Finn, or all those other men he swore to protect, the only thing he could see in his mind were the effects of that fucking C-virus: those hardened, grotesque bodies housing something so horrid, it had Chris almost retching where he stood.

Where he stood, exactly, he didn't know; ever since the plane he boarded landed in China, he had been walking. He didn't care where, of course, he just wanted to walk somewhere, _anywhere_.

But at this brief pause, Chris began to feel paranoid, and shot a quick glance over his shoulder. He saw nothing but a retreating shadow, and he figured a civilian coincidentally turned a corner at the exact moment he scanned the surroundings behind him. Shrugging the previous feeling off, Chris regained his slow pace, though he did think about how that shadow had a sense of familiarity to it. It couldn't have been...no, that wasn't possible.

“I'm going crazy,” he sighed, chuckling at himself. He was crazy for thinking that perhaps that shadow belonged to Piers, but he couldn't remember. Chris never remembered.

Amnesia was something he had dealt with after the events from six (or maybe it was eight) months before Piers had found him in that Eastern European bar. He did remember that the taste of that alcohol had become hard to swallow after Piers' little 'pep' talk. That particular brand he couldn't quite place – perhaps that was due to the fact he couldn't read the label – but he had asked for something strong, and strong was what he got. Why that mattered, he didn't know.

The sudden shattering of glass, then, scared him, and he reflexively took a step back while putting a hand up in front of his face. He had thought it was some J'avo, but the infection had been purged from China last year.

When he noticed it was just a drunken brawl, he regained his composure and stepped around civilian on the concrete, not bothering to look back after.

That was then the second odd thing to happen on that street. Chris wondered what would be next. Giant grasshoppers, maybe?

On second thought, he hoped to God that wouldn't be the case.

Chris shuddered at the memory of those half-J'avo, half-grasshoppers; they had been extremely disturbing to him.

So he dismissed the thought shortly after it appeared, and pondered something else. Only the J'avo or the effects of the virus plagued his mind, though. Those fucking infected never left him alone, even in his thoughts. But it was only because of PTSD, someone had said. Chris had wanted to tell them to take their diagnoses and shove it; he was not experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder, he was just angry with the world for taking everything he loved away from him.

They had tried putting him on meds; he refused. But they kept insisting, kept calling, and he just...snapped. He was forced to take those stupid pills in that stupid psych ward – and he was moved to a stupid padded room after punching the stupid fucking wall in the first room they placed him in.

He was holed up there, against his will, for the duration of ten months. When he was released, he was told that the C-virus had been eliminated in China, and the BSAA told him he could take a couple years off because of the amount of men he lost, and the stress they knew he was dealing with. This was fantastic news for Chris, as that meant he wouldn't have to deal with the BSAA's shit for a good, long while (even though he technically started the BSAA with Jill and some other individuals).

The BSAA was what dragged him back into military life; it was what took another group of men from him. To be honest, the BSAA made his life worse. But Piers, and Finn, and all those men he led made the whole thing more bearable – until they all died.

He would've retired from all this bullshit if Piers hadn't died.

Chris had been thinking of having Piers promoted to captain. If the twenty-six year old man had survived the whole thing, and came out with both of his arms, he would have most likely taken over Chris' role of leader. And even if he made it out with one arm, he would've been awarded for his heroism.

Thinking about the BSAA made Chris' head hurt, though, and the organization pissed him off. He appreciated the goal (the goal he put in place when he founded the BSAA), but when they told him to move on from a friend's death, he wanted to punch someone in the mouth. Chris did that once, too.

It had been some lanky kid fresh out of college, entering the BSAA's science department, that enraged him. “Get over it,” they said. “Your friend didn't die in vain.” And the kid would not stop bleeding from his nose after Chris punched him. Chris had panicked, fled the scene, and worried that he would be charged with murder. To this day, he still didn't know what happened. Maybe the kid was transferred; maybe he didn't die; maybe Chris had been imagining things, and the kid really wasn't there. Either way, he felt guilty.

He felt guilty for Finn's death, Marco's death, Piers' death.

 _He_ should've been the one to die. _He_ should've been the one Finn came to, asking if Piers – not fucking Chris Redfield – were really “this awesome.” Piers was a hero, not 'Captain' Redfield.

Chris wasn't awesome, he was horrible.

His thoughts were interrupted by the smashing of glass on the back of his head. Quickly, immediately, he turned around and stepped back, a hand flying up to the area of impact, as he swore at the individual who attacked him.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Chris then remembered this was China, and the man probably couldn't understand what he asked. So he just let the question hang, until the man lurched himself at Chris.

He attempted to step out of the way, but he was caught by the Asian man and fell to the ground, cracking his head on the concrete. So then, Chris just lay there for a while, letting the man punch him in the face. He wasn't admitting defeat, he was just thinking about what to do, even with the broken nose he was sure he had.

He observed the man as best he could, and realized the man was drunk – but that fact should have been obvious when he was attacked with a glass bottle. This would make it easier for him, though, as he wasn't drunk, like he always had been before Piers had found him several months ago.

After taking a few more blows to the face, Chris managed to grab at one of the Asian man's hands, and roughly shoved the hundred-some pound body off of him.

He jumped to his feet immediately after, and took revenge on the man by kicking him in the face a couple times, then moving to kick him in the stomach after the he fell over. He poured all his rage into these actions, but he had to stop in his tracks when he heard the wailing of sirens.

This was his cue to run, and Chris swore before bolting down an alleyway, leaping over a wooden crate as he did.

 _'Fucking friends of his probably called the cops,'_ Chris thought to himself as he climbed down a ladder into what he assumed to be the sewers. It smelled horrid, of course, but then the whole goddamned city smelled like shit to begin with.

He didn't have much time to continue thinking about the stench of the city, though, when he heard quick bootsteps overhead and shouts of Chinese law enforcement.

Then bright white light shone into his eyes when a Chinese officer peeked down into the sewer, and Chris had no choice but to run blindly through the dark.


	2. Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So here's chapter two.

Chris had ran for God-knows-how-long before finally coming to a stop to catch his breath. As he heaved for air, he remembered traversing through a sewer before, though at that time he had light and Piers was with him. Piers had an upset face that day, too, now that he thought about it. But why had he made that face?

A voice at the back of his mind stated that rejection was the case. But if that were so, what had Piers said that Chris rejected? And what exactly had it been to cause Piers' face to contort to the point where Chris thought the man would cry?

 _'He liked you,'_ the voice in Chris' mind answered.

“Like that?” he asked aloud, but too loudly for his liking. Chris quite possibly gave away his position right then and there. He was proven right (or perhaps it was a coincidence) when he heard shouts that were too close for comfort.

Stopping for air had been a bad idea.

He was about to start running again, but bright light shone around the corner and stunned him momentarily. Once he regained his composure, however, he turned to speed away from the police, but one of them went after him and tackled him to the ground. For a brief moment, he hoped his face didn't land on anything exceptionally gross.

Though now he had to figure out how to get free from the officer's grip.

He attempted to do the most natural of defenses first: to struggle. It was stupid of him to do, but at least it kept the officer from cuffing him.

So he had to come up with some brilliant plan, and quickly.

His second defense was to arch his back and throw the officer off of him. Surprisingly, Chris succeeded at this. But then again, he was also more built than Chinese officers were.

He made it to his feet in an instant, then, and ran, again, from the small group of officers.

Of course, though, with Chris' horrid luck, he was shot in the shoulder before he could make it very far. He had been shot or shot at thousands of times prior to his visit to China, so a single bullet didn't phase him, but it hurt like fucking hell. He wondered, briefly, if the bullets Chinese officers used were now coated in a layer of poison. Probably not, but he had a right to be paranoid about it.

Though this now meant he'd have to hurry up and find some medical aid.

But where was a way out? He had no flashlight, so that made finding a ladder almost impossible.

Chris didn't want to stretch his arm out and brush his fingers along the wall until flesh came in contact with metal, but he had no other choice.

Bringing his arm up, he winced at the pain that shot through his muscles. That damn officer had shot Chris in the right shoulder – Piers had lost his right arm, he remembered.

Chris turned several corners in his attempt to evade the officers (which he accomplished), and despite the dulled pain at the back of his head and the throbbing, burning pain in his shoulder, he felt pretty great. Successfully running away from law enforcement was difficult in the States, he knew, but he had a feeling it was harder in China. After all, police didn't follow you into the sewers unless they were serious about bringing you in. Or killing you. But maybe Chinese law enforcement was skeptical about foreigners ever since the bioterrorism attack on the country two years ago. Either way, Chris had a feeling the rule now changed to “Kill suspicious individuals on site.”

He wasn't suspicious, but then again, he ran away after beating a guy up in self-defense.

His wrist gently hit metal, then, and he grabbed at the source, realizing it was part of a ladder. Making a sound of joy and relief, he made his way up the ladder, his boots clinking softly on the metal rungs.

The road he saw when he pushed the manhole cover out of the way was completely deserted. Not even a gentle wind blew the bits and pieces of junk littering the street. This bothered Chris, but at the same time, it made him feel better knowing that now he wouldn't get mugged by a stranger.

So he began down the empty road, but quickly jogged back to the manhole cover to replace it. This would prevent the officers from knowing where he went, hopefully.

Now, this time, he did walk down the empty road. He'd have to find medical aid, though, but he didn't know if he could.

Chris would walk until he died, or passed out, or found a clinic of some sort.

He'd have to staunch the bleeding, though. So he unzipped the casual jacket he wore, removed the t-shirt underneath, and ripped off a part of the tank below the t-shirt. He wrapped the make-shift bandage tightly around the wound on his shoulder, and replaced the clothing he had stripped off.

He probably walked for an hour before he stumbled, and hit the wall with his right shoulder. He slid down the dirty wall and sat on the dusty ground.

Taking a nap wouldn't hurt...so his eyes fluttered shut and he dozed off.

* * *

Chris jolted upright and flew his eyes open at the loud sound of something metallic hitting the floor. He shut his eyes tightly, though, as bright sunlight shone into his face. He groaned as he let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“I'm sorry I woke you,” a soft, feminine voice spoke.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Oh, nowhere important. But you're safe, and that's all you should be concerned with, hun,” the voice was closer now, and a warm hand brushed the top of his head. “You were in pretty bad shape when I brought you here – it took me a few hours to remove the bullet from your shoulder.” The hand moved down to his right shoulder, and gently probed at the freshly bandaged wound.

Chris hissed in pain at this, and slapped the hand away. “Yeah? And you're only gonna fucking make it worse,” he removed his arm from in front of his face, and glared at the woman. “Who are you?”

“I'm no one important,” she responded. “But remember that I saved your life, and you should be grateful. I didn't have to drag you back here.”

Chris took a moment to look over the visage of the woman. She appeared to be in her 40's, and of European descent. “You don't look Chinese, though, so what're you doing out here?”

“I could ask the same thing,” she paused. “I've lived in China since before the bioterrorist attack a couple years ago. But I had been in another city – far away from here – during the dilemma. So no, I'm not infected.”

“I – Thank you for helping me,” Chris huffed, but figured the woman was safe enough.

“So why are you out here, hun?”

“I'm revisiting old memories,” he directed his gaze toward the window closest to him. “I'm a soldier, you know. Of the BSAA.”

“The BSAA, you say?” the woman's eyes widened at the statement, but she did nothing else. “I had thought all of you died during the attack. You're the only survivor, I take it?”

Chris closed his eyes to hold back the tears that began to form. He thought back to that last scene of Piers. He couldn't forget that look of sadness he saw in Piers' eye, the knit of his brow, the frown on his face. He figured that if he had treated Piers just a little bit better, he would have climbed into that escape pod with him. He figured that if he were a real captain, none of this would have happened. He'd be sitting in an office, retired from fieldwork, all of his men still alive. But they'd be guided by Piers during missions.

Breathing deeply, Chris finally answered the woman with a nod. “Yes. The only one.”

“I see,” she spoke quietly.

Silence ensued, then, and Chris felt tired, even though he had just woken up. But all he wanted to do was get back on his feet and continue the walk he had started the day before. “Hey, how long before I can leave?”

The woman had to think about the answer. “I'm not sure... Three days, maybe?”

“I want to leave now.”

“You can't do that, hun, you need to let your body heal. You can leave once I say. But I have a feeling you'll leave tonight, once I'm asleep,” she paused, and the corners of her lips tipped up into a little grin. “I can't stop you, though, so you can leave whenever you want. I want you to leave with some medical supplies, though – this part isn't very nice. It seems abandoned, but it's not. Hidden evils lurk behind every wall, inside every building. You only have a knife on you, I noticed, but you'll need guns.”

“What do you mean by 'hidden evils?' Are there still J'avo here? There can't be, though, China was purged of the C-virus two years ago,” Chris had sat up, then.

He watched the woman shake her head. “No, no, there aren't any J'avo, as you call them. Just evil men. Crazy men. One even claimed he had electrical powers.”

“Electrical pow – what did the man look like?” Chris questioned.

“I'm not sure. I talked to him in the dark, when he came to me for medical supplies. He didn't want me to check him over, he only wanted bandages. And he refused to show me his face,” she was calm as she spoke. “He hasn't showed up since then, so I'm not sure if he's close by.

“But he did say he'd electrocute me, with his 'powers,' if I didn't give him the supplies he wanted. He asked for a couple guns, too.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Half a year ago, I think.”

Chris immediately swung his feet over the bed and searched for his shoes. “Where are my... Could you collect all my things for me and bring them here? Please?” he wasn't in the mood to search for his boots, or the rest of his clothing. “I need to leave, now.”

“...All right,” the woman stood and left the room, returning minutes later with Chris' boots, and new clothing. “Change into these – they should fit you – while I gather medical supplies and some weapons.” She left the things on the edge of the bed and removed herself from the room again.

Chris grabbed the first article of clothing in the pile, and unfolded it. It was a clean, white tank top, that he pulled over his bare chest moments after. The next piece of clothing was a thin white thermal sweater, and a general white t-shirt was after that. He moved the dark gray jacket in the pile off of the dark blue jeans, and he pulled said jeans up his legs after he stood, and did up the zipper and button.

He sat back down, set one foot on the chair the woman had occupied, and pulled on one boot, and then the other, and laced the laces after.

He waited a few minutes for the woman, and observed the surroundings of the cozy little room until then. On the wall behind him, there was a lit fireplace, and two chairs that looked comfortably cushioned sat on either side of the fireplace. To his left was the window, with a white lace curtain covering it, but to no avail. To his right was a bare wall, save for a small clock and a few pictures that could have possibly been relatives of the woman. Ahead of him was the door the woman had exited earlier, and as he looked at the door, the woman passed through.

She walked over to him, and set the medical supplies, guns, ammo, ammo belts, and a vest to hold even more ammo down next to the remaining piece of clothing. “This should be fine,” she sat down on the chair beside the bed. “If you need anything else, just let me know. However, food is something I cannot provide, and I apologize for that.”

Chris stood again, grabbing the jacket and adding it to the ensemble of clothing he already wore, then putting the vest on, and pulled the ammo belts over his head to adjust them around his chest and shoulders, being careful with his right shoulder. He looped a belt equipped with gun holsters around his waist, and placed the pistols inside of the holsters. The assault rifle the woman provided was strapped to his back next by a soft leather band, and he figured he was good to go after he checked all the little pockets of the vest to see which ammo was in which pocket.

“Thank you,” he spoke, after having pulled the satchel of medical supplies over his head, and adjusting that as well.

“Of course. It was no problem,” she smiled at him, and led him to the front door of her home. Once there, she hugged him. “You be safe now, all right?”

Chris nodded to her, a smile on his face. “I'll try, but I can't guarantee anything,” he obviously had a habit of getting injured. “But thank you, again.” He saluted her, then, and made his way down the street.

He had felt hopeful when the woman talked about the man with 'powers' involving electricity. The description had fit Piers, and Chris felt that if he searched long and hard, he'd find him. He wasn't sure what condition the man would be in, but if he found him, he wouldn't let him go.


End file.
